Olivia Colman

At first glance BBC Three’s new sitcom Fleabag may give the illusion of being like any other modern day sitcom. A young, attractive but troubled lead with a turbulent love life, an uptight sister and a struggling small business; what more could writer and ‘Fleabag’ Phoebe Waller-Bridge bring to the table? But within the first episode the narrative is already swept in an interesting direction, with the suggestion of darker aspects to this person’s life than one might previously have assumed.

Beginning life as a one-woman Edinburgh show in 2013, Fleabag is a confessional tale of a young woman trying to succeed in her relationships, business ventures and in herself, but desperately treading water.Waller-Bridge’s writing is rude and provocative but refreshingly open and self-deprecating. Yes it is dark, and heavy at times, but this sitcom is undoubtedly really funny. The production itself is artistically daring in places, with dream and flashback sequences packing particular punch. And the coy looks to camera are a welcome release of tension for viewers, with Waller-Bridge’s knowing eye drawing us in for personal in-jokes that teach us more about her character, rather than serve as cheap laughs.

And the cast is not to be scoffed at either, with W1A‘s Hugh Skinner playing Fleabag’s intermittent boyfriend as well as Hugh Dennis as unsupportive bank manager and Olivia Colman as somewhat self-entitled step-mum. The small group of core characters are diversely peculiar, with each of their stresses manifesting in traits such as a limitation to the fluidity of their social skills or an avoidance of adult responsibilities.

There are plenty of laugh out loud moments provided by our star, drawn from her highly socially inappropriate sense of humour and an apparently uncontrollable mouth. But the issue at the heart of this unsettling comedy is one of great personal loss; whether that be the ongoing pain of having her mother die when she was young or the recent shock of losing her best friend in a horrific incident, Fleabag is coming to terms with her status in the world, and within her own disjointed family.

Fleabag is almost a comedy of errors; it is a narrative of social nonconformity: a depiction of a young woman struggling to accept herself, apparently terrified of real affection. Our almost-tragic lead is the receiver of everyone’s sympathy but does not often receive any genuine care. Disjointed, snappy and vibrant, Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag establishes itself very quickly before evolving into something else entirely; there are numerous moments in this programme that are absolutely exquisite.

If there ever was a sitcom that could bring about feelings of discomfort and sorrow whilst also being oddly life-affirming, it is Flowers. Starring Julian Barratt and Olivia Colman as the leads, Flowers is a story of a disjointed and deeply unhappy family; each person within it acting and speaking with the best of intentions but possessing an inability to communicate their innermost thoughts and feelings.

Flowers is the artistic creation of 29-year-old Will Sharpe, who wrote and directed the series as well as playing the character of Shun, a young and enthusiastic Japanese artist who lives with the Flowers family and works for Maurice (Barratt). Deborah (Colman) and Maurice are a likeable but floundering pair, desperately trying to cling to each other as all manner of chaotic events and disruptive people threaten to reap havoc with their personal lives.

The subject matter of Flowers is morbid, the series begins with a suicide attempt, but the production is aesthetically dark also, along with a delightfully jarring score. With a rapidly developing narrative, yet still managing to capture a meandering, morose tone, as well as nurturing a fondness for each individual character as we learn more of their backgrounds and aspirations. Sophia Di Martino and Daniel Rigby (Big School, Undercover) effortlessly capture the mannerisms of, and tensions between, bickering twins Amy and Donald, who are 25 and still live at home. This dynamic is explored thoroughly but sensitively; yet another example of idiosyncrasy in the production, successfully avoiding lazy or over-generalised observations regarding how siblings interact with one another, and how the ‘children’ fit within the wider family. Maurice’s narrated excerpts from his Mr Grubb children’s novels add further sinister element to the overall production, with these readings from the struggling children’s writer giving Flowers a hint of TheBabadook about it.

It seems to be rather wasteful for the entire series to have been broadcast over the course of one week, though this is perhaps an indicator of the changing habits of British television-viewers. This does, however, make it easier for eager viewers to binge-watch the series in one sitting and then step outside three hours later, blinking into the light and exhaling that breath they’d been holding since episode two.

It’s quite some feat, considering the magnitude of this cast, that the stand-out performance for me is that of Sharpe himself, particularly as his role develops from that of a jester to an emotional reconciler as events dramatically unfold. In an interview with The British Comedy Guide, Sharpe sums up his artistic aims with the project: “The show is about melancholy and family, and it’s about people feeling trapped or alone. It’s also about how your own state of mind can affect those around you.” Here is a prime example of a case where a distinct creative vision has been successfully defined and then translated into a stunning piece that seems to encapsulate everything it intended to, whilst also alluding to more. This melancholic masterpiece is hands down the most spectacular piece of television I have ever seen. Flowers broke my heart and then fixed it again.